


And See the Open Sun Go Past

by bobtheacorn



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: + little!frodo i couldn't resist, Bilbo doesn't give af and i love it, Gen, The Shire, pissed off Shackville-Baggins'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobtheacorn/pseuds/bobtheacorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are far too many of Bilbo's relations crowding into Bag End for his comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And See the Open Sun Go Past

There are far too many of Bilbo's relations crowding into Bag End for his comfort.

Not to say the he isn't a gracious host, and thankful for the company, and pleased to see everyone. He's been quite lonesome of late, and the previously-planned visit of some of his cousins from across the Brandywine is a welcome one, despite the fuss it causes. There are little ones underfoot, shrieking in play as they run in and out of rooms and hallways, enamored with the open spaces, connecting rooms, and warm lighted tunnels as if they've never seen anything like it. There is plenty of food and good conversation. There is even plenty of chances to steal away into a room further off and enjoy the merriment of others from a distance. In fact, Bilbo would hardly feel overwhelmed or flustered at all if it weren't for the Shackville-Baggins', who, seeing a get-together that that were not invited to or particularly wanted at, took it upon themselves to impose.

Bilbo makes quick work of hiding his good silverware, and his mother's plates, and a number of other valuables he'd rather not be parted with; he shuts his study last of all and keeps a wary eye on the overly-large purse clutched in the crook of Lobelia's arm.

-x-

Just past 4 o'clock, Bilbo shoos Lotho out of his kitchen with none too kind a word and swift kick that misses it's mark, but makes his intent clear enough. The only reasons Bilbo doesn't pick the lad up and set him out the door is because there is tray occupying both his hands, laden with tea and biscuits. He's convinced the thick, scowling boy has been sent on an errand of distraction by his foul mother, and it's going down the hall to the sitting room, Lotho fleeing before him (to hide behind his father's considerable girth, no doubt), that Bilbo hears the distinct click and creak of a door opening in the hall behind. He comes up short and spins to look, the cups clattering gently against saucers on the tray. _That Lobelia is going to get her ear bent, now,_ Bilbo thinks, but has the presence of mind to take the tea to the kin he doesn't want to throttle, first.

Just as he suspects, it's his study door that's ajar.

Bilbo comes into the room with all the fury of a building storm. He throws the door fully open - _"Now see here you thieving sneak -"_ \- and finds, not Lobelia Shackville-Baggins snooping through his documents, but a small Hobbit peering tentatively over the edge of his writing desk, trying to see out the window into the garden. The boy squeaks in surprise, the book in his hands thudding heavily to the carpet, and Bilbo is taken aback, pausing in the middle of the floor.

It's Primula's boy, hardly seven, and come with cousins while his parents remained in Brandyhall; quite a little fellow even for a Hobbit child, with dark curls and pale, wide eyes.

"Oh," Bilbo says dumbly, glancing about.

The room is otherwise empty. He spies a gap in the shelf near the fireplace where Frodo pulled the book free, and the boy stoops, now, to lift it from the carpet. The book is comically large in his small hands. He holds it near his chest so the weight of it doesn't pull him forward, preoccupied with running his palms along the smooth corners.

"Sorry, Mister Bilbo," Frodo says softly, "I wasn't snooping."

Bilbo surprises himself with a laugh at that, wags a finger as he steps forward.

"I do believe you were," he says, though not in earnest.

Taking the book from Frodo's hands, Bilbo turns it over to see the leather-bound front. He knows it well without even looking. It's a gift Balin brought him when the Dwarf last visited; an account of Erebor's resettlement, written greetings and small tokens from the others of Thorin's old Company who couldn't make trip; and a small compilation of notes and sketches, courtesy of Ori. Perhaps it was the Dwarvish lettering that drew the young Hobbit's curiosity. Even as Bilbo runs his hand over the cover, he catches Frodo craning his head to get a look at the spine.

Bilbo isn't overly fond of children - noisy, dirty little devils, generally - but he finds himself smiling at this one.

He clears his throat.

"This story's a bit too big for a small lad like you," Bilbo says, and moves to put it away at a higher place on the shelf. Taking a moment to look at it, Bilbo then turns to wave Frodo out the door with his hands, and with as reproachful a look as he can muster, "And my study's no place for company, so go on then! Out you get!"

Frodo politely pads out of the room ahead of him, though he lingers as Bilbo pulls the door closed.

"D'you know any Dwarves, Mister Bilbo?"

"Quite a few, actually," Bilbo says, and spots Lobelia at the end of the hall, talking to Otho behind the back of her hand and squinting at them. He suddenly feels like an old conspirator, and readily plays the part. Frodo leans up on his toes to hear when Bilbo stoops, one hand on his knee, to stage whisper, "And I like a great deal more of them better than certain cousins of ours."

He points down the hall, nods with his head, and Frodo turns his luminous blue eyes on the Shackville-Baggins'. Following this comment directly, Bilbo beams at them and waves a friendly hand, knowing that'll chap their hides more than anything and swiftly being proven right. Otho harrumphs, as if offended, and bowls his way back into the sitting room with his hands on his vest pockets; Lobelia slinks after him, calling for her son and declaring that it's time to go. Grinning behind both his hands, young Frodo stifles a laugh.

Bilbo decides he likes this one quite a lot.

Smiling, he places a hand on the top of Frodo's head, ruffles the lad's dark hair, and hurries off to make sure Lobelia's purse is empty of his personal possessions.


End file.
